


Alternate Uses For Sharpie

by theyalwayssay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffee Shops, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, I would say I'm sorry, M/M, Teen Angst, another AU, but I'm not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 13:46:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyalwayssay/pseuds/theyalwayssay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two orders of coffee, one black, one Irish, and one green tea latte. Add steam, please, and hold the diabetes. The name's Winchester and Novak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternate Uses For Sharpie

**Author's Note:**

> So, at the prompting of real life peoples, and at the overwhelming (well, overwhelming for me) reaction to my previous Destiel fic, I give you another one in celebration of the imminent Season 9 premiering in a few days. Yes, perhaps the coffee shop AU is cliche, but I'm wetting my toes in Supernatural fic and I don't plan to rush into any big fic projects in the fandom until I get more used to writing the characters. For whatever reason, I still can't seem to make Anna feel canon enough. Any suggestions on how to write her, please leave a comment, I'd love to get to where I could make her a bigger part of the fics. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy! If you need me, I'll be trying to cram two more seasons of Supernatural in before the premier.

Cas was late. Late as usual, but definitely later than usual. He tapped his foot anxiously in line, constantly checking the time on his phone, biting his lip anxiously. 

The barista working must be really slow. Or just plain bad. The line seemed to be stuck on this woman who was ordering a drink so complicated the description could probably be used as a novel, but even the people who had ordered simple things were stuck waiting at the counter. 

Finally, he made his way to the front of the line. A guy about his age looked up, brushing the caramel hair away from his forehead. Damn. Those are some green eyes, Castiel couldn’t help but think. And they were, green as acid, chlorophyll green. Was he Irish? He had the freckles, and the eyes. Maybe he used to have red hair, but had dyed it.

“What can I get you?” he asked. Damn it. Not Irish.

“Just a coffee, thanks,” Cas said quietly.

“A what? Just a plain coffee?” 

“Yea.” 

“Dude, that’s so boring. Don’t you want to add something to it? I think the caramel’s great, personally. Chai and caramel, best combination.” 

I

“No, just plain is fine.”

The boy shrugged. “All right,” he said. “What size?”

“Medium.” 

“Grande?” 

“You’re the one who works here, you should know which one is medium.” 

He looked up at him in surprise, then laughed lightly.”Dude, I know, the names for sizes are ridiculous. Don’t tell anyone I said that though, Starbucks is paying for my car. Anything else?” 

“No, that’s it.” 

He turned around and shouted to a long-haired boy standing behind him, “I need a plain coffee for this guy who doesn’t know how to live life on the edge.” 

“What? Just coffee?” 

“I know, right? Do you even know how to make that?”

“Don’t be a jerk, Dean, obviously I do.”

“Then get to it,” Dean turned back to Cas, pulling a Sharpie out of his pocket. “Brothers, man. I mean, I love Sam, but the kid’s not fit to work heavy machinery like the coffee maker. His hair might get caught. Name?” 

“Uh, Cas.” 

Dean scribbled on the cup, then tossed it to his brother. “That’ll be $4.11.” 

Cas handed him the money, muttered “keep the change,” and walked over to the counter, tapping his foot and checking his phone again. Fifteen minutes late. And the coffee wasn’t even for him. Great. And, to make matters worse, he was forced to talk to people. If there was one thing he hated, it was being forced to talk to strangers. Especially strangers who tried to strike up casual conversation, making Barista Dean officially his worst nightmare. 

“Here you go,” Sam said, handing him the coffee. Cas took it, and noticed that the name written on the side was ‘Cass’. He sighed, then headed out the door. Looking back, he saw Dean glance at him before he left. 

*** 

Twenty four minutes late. A new record. 

“Well done, Mr. Novak. An extra five points off for tardiness,” his teacher announced loudly as he slunk in, panting from his sprint, his bag hanging from the crook of his elbow.  
He slumped back to his seat and passed the coffee to his friend Anna. “Sorry,” she mouthed, but he’d already folded his arms over the desk and hid his face, his ears burning. There was nothing worse than coming into class, having everyone stare at you, the one or two students who would always giggle as you did the Walk of Shame to your seat. This was the last time he was getting coffee for Anna. For someone who was determined to be one the few in her family not suffering from type 2 diabetes, she certainly forgot her caffeine tablets a lot. Cas was pretty sure she didn’t actually need to drink coffee every day, but just liked using him as a Starbucks service. Oh, well. With any luck, she wouldn’t make him go back again, and he wouldn’t be forced to engage with overly friendly Barista Dean. 

*** 

_I need you to get coffee. -A_

_Like hell you do._

_Cas you know I need the caffeine. -A_

_Caffeine is shown to prevent diabetes with prolonged use. I don’t think not having it one day is going to destroy everything you’ve worked for. And you’re supposed to be taking the tablets._

_Come on Cas please? Think of it as senior privilege. You’re a junior, you are subordinate, I outrank you, and if you want me to come save you every time your crap car dies, then you’ll do this one little thing for me. –A_

_Technically you’re not supposed to be a Senior. You skipped a grade._

_Not the point. -A_

_I can’t be late again._

_Then wake up earlier. –A_

*** 

“Just a plain coffee.” 

“Oh, it’s plain coffee boy again!” Dean said, turning to his brother. “Sammy, check it out, he’s returned!”

“Well, it’s not really for me, I’m just picking it up for a friend.” 

“Damn, you’ve got a friend who drinks plain black coffee? They must be like some sort of son of a bitch heavyweight,” he said. He picked up a Sharpie.

“Cas, with one s.” 

Dean glanced up at him. “Crap, did I spell it wrong last time?” 

“Yea.”

“Sorry, man. Won’t happen again.”

“It’s all right.” 

Why did this boy look like a brooding biker, and yet was able to talk so damn much? Was it in his employee contract to have logorrhea? 

“There you go,” Dean said, tossing the cup to Sam. “It’ll be ready in a sec. Not as busy here as it was last time.” 

Cas stood silently at the counter, rocking back and forth on his heels and biting his lip. Sam handed him the cup, and he immediately darted out the door. The moment before it closed behind him, he heard Dean shout, “See ya Cas!”

Nope. You would not be seeing him. He was not going to back to that damn store. He would be happy to never have to see another Starbucks for the rest of his life. Even if Barista Dean had remembered his name.

He got into his car and turned on the engine. The clock on the dashboard said 8:30. Late again. He let his head fall back against the headrest, sighing heavily. His eyes opened slightly and narrowed at the cup. There was something written on it besides the scrawled name. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand. Along the bottom was the usual disclaimer, Caution: The beverage you are about to enjoy may be extremely hot. However, words had been crossed out with Sharpie, so instead it read: Caution: you are extremely hot. Cas felt his eyes widen as he stared down at it. In addition to the note, his name was written on the side, with only one ‘s’ this time, and an arrow pointing to it with the words ‘I got it right this time!’ 

He put the cup back in the holder and floored it to make it past the green light, but his eyes kept flicking back to the note. Had he really been that obvious? Come to think of it, was Dean that obvious? If he hadn’t been the only person in the store, he would have thought that he had gotten the cup by accident. Maybe he’d already written it on there. But that didn’t make sense. Dean didn’t seem like the type of person to do that. And certainly not that type of person. And who was he to know what sort of person Dean was?  
When he arrived in the school parking lot, he grabbed a pen and scribbled over the Sharpie. 

*** 

“So, what’s your favourite kind of music?” 

“Classical music. Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, all that stuff. But I like a lot of other music too. Except for rap.” 

“Yea, rap is awful. Do you like rock and roll?” 

“That could apply to a lot of songs. What counts as rock and roll?” 

“You know, the classic AC/DC, Metallica, Styx…” Dean made a flat attempt at humming ‘Back in Black’. 

“Oh!” Cas said, nodding. “Yea, sometimes I like that stuff.” 

“Cool! My brother hates it though,” Dean called over his shoulder, “Isn’t that right, Sammy?” 

“There’s a reason people listened to that stuff in the 80’s, Dean. All bad decisions were made in the 80’s.” 

Cas smiled. “He’s just a spoilsport,” he said quietly, jerking his head in Sam’s direction. The movement dislodged his glasses, making them slip down to the very edge of his nose. Before he had a chance to push them back up, Dean reached over the counter and grabbed them. 

“Hey!” Cas exclaimed. “Dean, give them back.” 

“Can you see anything when you’re not wearing them?” 

“Hardly.”

“I think they look better on me anyway,” Dean continued putting them on. “And they’re Ray-Bans, too. You’re a total hipster.” 

“I’m not a hipster. My friend Anna is, but I’m not.”

“Well, your fancy-ass glasses tell a different story,” Dean said, laughing and shoving them back onto Cas’s face. Cas straightened them, blinking as his vision swam back into focus, landing on Dean’s face as he took a swig of coffee. Cas bit his lip, his brows furrowed, before reaching over and grabbing the drink. 

“Whoa,” Dean said, reaching over and pulling the cup back. “I don’t think so. How old are you again?”

“Seventeen,” Cas answered, sounding more defensive then he meant to. “Why?” 

“Nothing, just that there’s a little flavoring in here that I don’t think you’d like. Or appreciate,” Dean said casually. 

“What? I don’t…Dean, did you put alcohol in the coffee or something?”

“Only a little bit.” Dean glanced up through his eyelashes as Cas’s face. “Come on, man, don’t be like that. Haven’t you ever heard of Irish coffee? It’s just a little added flavour.” 

“How old are you again?” Cas asked mockingly, folding his arms.

“Nineteen.”

Cas glared. 

“Seniority.”

“Why does everyone say that? It’s such a stupid excuse!” Cas groaned, throwing his hands and in the air. Dean smirked and took a self-satisfied sip. 

“Dean,” Sam called from the register. The two boys looked up to see a swarm of elderly women pile through the door. 

“And that would be my cue,” Dean said, pushing his elbows off the counter and stretching, his arms stretching so far above his head that the faintest glimpse of skin was visible over his waistband and under the green Starbucks apron he had slung over his shoulder. “They’re like clockwork, they play pinball and poker all night and then come in here to watch the pretty boys serve them coffee. See you tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow’s Monday, right? Yea. Yea, you probably will,” Cas said, picking up his sweater from the back of the chair.

Dean nodded, smiling. “All right. See you then.” 

*** 

“Cas? I have just the tiniest little favour to ask you-”

“I hate you.” 

“I love you too! Oh, and please, can you not scribble Sharpie all over the Starbucks cup? I’ve been getting funny looks all week. Is it some kind of compulsion or something?” 

*** 

“Are you ever actually going to buy something for yourself one of these days?” 

“No, I don’t drink coffee.” 

“Are you a Mormon? I heard that Mormons aren’t allowed to drink coffee.”

“No, I just don’t like the taste.” 

“Do you drink tea?” 

“Yes.” 

“ _Well,_ ” Dean said emphatically, leaning against the cash register, “Aren’t you sophisticated. Forgive me while I swoon.” 

Cas blushed and glared at him. 

“All right, all right, no hard feelings,” Dean said, reaching behind him and grabbing the coffee cup. “Take your black-as-Hell tar coffee. But seriously, you should get something for yourself one of these days. I’ll pay for it if you want, you let me keep your change so often I could probably buy out the store,” he handed it to Cas. 

“Thanks,” he replied. 

“See you, Cas!” Sam called as the door swung closed. 

Cas climbed into the driver’s seat of his old car, putting the cup in its holder. His fingers came away inky and black. He spun the cup around, and there, smudged but still legible, was a phone number. Dean had written his phone number on the cup. There was no way Cas could scribble over it this time.

He looked up at the coffee shop, through the window to where the two brothers were talking behind the counter of the deserted Starbucks. Sam shoved a hand into Dean’s shoulder while Dean fell back against the counter, laughing and running a hand through his hair. 

His phone was out of his pocket and the number was dialed before he really understood what he was doing. His breath seared his nostrils and the inside of his mouth, and each time he exhaled his breath seemed to tear in two. He pressed the Call button, his thumb so slippery with sweat that it skidded right off the phone. He held the phone to his ear and could practically feel the condensation forming on the screen, so great was the heat radiating off his skin. 

“Hello?”

“Stop it.” 

“Wha-Cas? Is this you? Man, I didn’t think you would call so soon. Sorry, I can’t talk too long, Sammy’s gone and done something to the coffee machine and it’s hissing and blowing all this steam-” 

“You think you can get away with this crap? Like, you can just assume something about a stranger and have it be true? I don’t know if you’re trying to flirt with me or my friend, but it’s unprofessional, and it had better stop, or else I’ll report you to your manager and have you fired.” 

Nothing but static, and beyond that, the steady hiss of the malfunctioning machine on the other end of the line. “…Cas, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” His voice sounded like someone had just brutally kicked it. 

“I don’t care whether you meant to upset me or not! Were you trying to flirt with me or something? Because I’m not gay, and only a complete dick would just assume that about someone and then harass them. I don’t care if you’re the biggest, gayest, most overconfident twink in the world, you don’t have the right to do that. Don’t try and call back, don’t text me, because I’m never coming back here again!” 

Cas’s heavy breathing filled the fuzzy silence. He could vaguely feel his hand clutching the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white and his joints cramped, but it was as though the pain was a long ways away. Already, he had partially forgotten what he had shouted at Dean. It must have been loud, though. His ears were ringing. 

“All right,” Dean said after a moment, so quietly that Cas had to strain to hear. “You listen to me, fuckwad. I went out on a limb, and obviously I made the wrong decision, but you think that you have the right to call me rather than say that shit to my face? I didn’t make you out to be such a fucking coward. Maybe the next time someone tries to be nice to you, you won’t be an ungrateful prick about it. So sorry that my supposed gayness scared you off, remind me to keep it on a fucking leash next time, and meanwhile, go ahead and find some other place to buy your damn coffee. And why don’t you try and not talk about things you don’t understand. Fuck you.” 

A stuttering click. Silence. After about thirty seconds, the phone began to beep in his ear.

Cas leaned back in the driver’s seat, his hand clutching the phone like it might vanish into this air. His right eye cracked open, and he looked through the window. He could just barely see Sam, leaning through the back room door as though he was speaking to someone, but Dean was nowhere in sight. 

“Well, fuck you too,” Cas muttered, reaching forward. It took him several attempts to grab the key in the ignition, his hands were shaking so much. 

He turned the key. Nothing. He turned the key again. A stutter, a dull clunk, and the engine fell dead. Cas cried out in frustration and banged the heel of his hand against the top of the steering wheel. He reached over to his phone, sending a text to Anna, his fingers typing furiously. 

_Car dead. Need ride. Now._

She texted back after ten minutes. 

_In class. Wait an hour. –A_

_I can’t. I need a ride. Now._

_IN. CLASS. Walk. –A_

Cas threw the phone into the backseat, pushing his head so far into the headrest that his neck hurt. He pushed the heels of his hands over his eyes, sighing so heavily that he felt winded and drained. He thrashed around like a pet trying to get comfortable on its bed, finally leaning forward and putting his forehead on the steering wheel.  
“Shit. Don’t cry, you bitch,” he muttered to himself. But the first tear had already dropped, and not there was no preventing the torrent of water pouring from his eyes, making his tear ducts sting and clouding his glasses. He took them off, sniffling and wiping his eyes with his hands. And he waited. 

***

“I’m not going.” 

“What is wrong with you? Look, I’m even driving you to school! I think you should be thankful for that at least,” Anna said, waving a hand in the direction of the windshield. 

“I could have gotten Gabriel or Balthazar or someone to take me.” Cas sulked against the corner of the door and the seat. 

“ _No_ , you couldn’t have. Your older brother doesn’t even own a car, and Balthazar hasn’t talked to you since you wrote that tweet about how he should stop leaving his condoms on the boy’s bathroom floor.” 

“Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have done that, but it’s true.” 

“I don’t care. If you want to bail out, then you’re diving out of the window.” 

“I hate you,” Cas muttered, leaning his head against the glass. 

“I’m being so nice to you, driving you to school while your car’s in the shop. The least you can do is let me get my coffee.”

“Whatever,” came his non-reply.

“You can sit in the car if you want,” Anna said, pulling up in front of Starbucks. “I’m not going to force you to go in. But you’re still acting really damn weird.”

“Are you going to keep bugging me about it all day if I don’t come in with you?” Cas asked, turning in the seat to face her. 

“All day, today, and ever onwards,” she replied. 

Cas unbuckled his seatbelt with as much angry force as one could muster when getting their hand tangled in the buckle. “ _Fine_ ,” he said, shaking his hand free. “But I’m just going to stand there and look disgruntled.” 

“Fine by me, it won’t drive the price up,” Anna said, and they walked through the door, Cas trailing a little ways behind her.

The place was packed. There must be some sort of convention in town, as it was early in the morning and the gambling old ladies were nowhere to be seen. Sam was there, though, in his usual tight black T-shirt, despite the weather being just a bit too cold for it. He was leaning over the register, deep in discussion with a gaunt man in a black suit. And there was Dean, in a black sweater, working the counter. Cas could practically feel his stomach clench when he saw him. He fixed his gaze determinedly at the floor, his glasses slipping down the sweat-slick bridge of his nose. He would not be the one to make eye contact first. He just wouldn’t be.

“Hey,” Anna said, walking up to the counter as the man in the suit walked away.

“Hello,” Sam replied. “What can I get for you?”

“Black coffee, please.”

Sam blinked, and his eyes narrowed imperceptibly. “Grande plain coffee?”

“Uh, yea, but I don’t think it’s called ‘plain coffee.’ I don’t even know what ‘plain coffee’ counts as,” Anna said confusedly. Sam’s eyes flicked behind her and focused on Cas. Cas felt his fingers begin to shake in his pockets. Judging from his expression, Sam knew about the conversation between Dean and Cas. What Cas had said to his brother. It felt like his throat was attempting to strangle itself. If this was a movie, he would just fall to his knees and beg the universe for forgiveness. But this was reality, and he had called Sam’s brother a twink, and a dick. The brother of a guy who could easily destroy him. Actually, they could both probably kill him. So why didn’t they?

To say he felt guilty was an understatement. For the past three days, all he’d done was stew over the incident, attempting to recall as many details of it as he could, the better to torture himself with. He had stopped crying by the time Anna had come to get him, and after that he was beyond tears. It was like the guilt had liquefied his guts and had been slowly slurping them up all weekend. He couldn’t stop thinking about Dean’s voice, and how he had sounded over the phone, so dangerous and angry and hurt. And in the end, it hadn’t even been worth it. Cas had been embarrassed, yes, but now he couldn’t even go anywhere near the place without wishing he would disappear. Being able to travel back in time and fix everything was overrated. If he could, he would simply erase everyone’s memories, Dean’s and Sam’s and Anna’s, and it would be like he’d never been there before. Given the choice, deleting was always better than revising. But then all those conversations, talking to Dean over the counter while he worked…he had learned so much about him just from those snippets of his life. He wanted to get a job fixing cars. He was from Lawrence, Kansas (Cas’d been so off with the Ireland guess), and his mother had died in a house fire when he was little. Despite his height, Sam was the little brother, and Dean cared about him more than he’d ever let on. There were a lot of things that Dean didn’t seem to want to talk about. Most of the time, he walked the fine line between aloof and likeable, too cool but warm and friendly. And yet he talked to Cas, the nerdy high schooler with the broken car. He’d made Cas feel, for once, like he was someone worth listening to. And what had he done to repay Dean? Shouted at him and insulted him over the phone.

Cas’s legs started moving. He blinked, looking down at his feet. _What are you doing, legs? Are you taking me to a shit situation?_ was all he managed to think before he bumped in Dean, reorganizing the coffee cups for sale on a tall shelf. He hadn’t even taken his hands out of his pockets, just rammed into him like a kitten who wanted attention. Dean turned to look at him, and his eyes froze over. Winter in Ireland. 

Cas opened his mouth, but his throat was obviously still preoccupied with writing its suicide note, and couldn’t be bothered to say anything. He gulped like a fish and hoped that a Void would open up and swallow him into black nothingness, anything to sap the blushing heat from his face. He felt like his eyes were about to pop out of his head and run for cover like mice.

Dean stared at him for what felt like a week before walking back behind the counter and picking up a cup. And still Cas was silent. His brain was running, reeling, but it felt like all his thoughts were on a hamster wheel, going fast and nowhere. Like a classic high-school relationship.

“Why aren’t you in college?”

Dean looked up, a twitch in his jaw. “What?”

“Why are you working here, and aren’t in college? You’re nineteen. You should be in school.”

“Oh, should I?” Dean’s eyebrows rose in mock interest.

“No. I just wondered why you weren’t.”

“I don’t have time to talk to you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No time.”

“Are you gay?”

Dean looked up at him. His jaw was clenched, but it seemed like his eyes had defrosted slightly. “No, I’m bi,” he said after a moment. Cas couldn’t tell whether he was being sarcastic or not.

“Oh,” Cas replied, nodding awkwardly. His hands were twisting themselves up so much in front of him that he wouldn’t be surprised to find his fingers tangled together. “…Are you mad?” he asked quietly.

“Are you stupid?” came the reply.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Really? Because, I remember someone else saying that. Oh, right. It was _me_ , saying that to you, and if I remember, that didn’t work for you. And it doesn’t work for me. Now buy something or get out.”

“Dean, please. If you don’t have time to talk, then just listen to me. I’m really _really_ sorry about what I said. It was uncalled for and I apologize.”

“You sound like you wrote this out on fucking cue cards,” Dean muttered, his head down as he made coffee. “Tell your sob story to someone who cares.”

“All right, look. Do you know who’s ever flirted with me before? No one. Ever. And I feel like I hardly even know you. I just see this cool guy working at Starbucks and writing stuff on the cups, and I just, I don’t know, I panicked. I was just angry and confused, and I said things that I didn’t mean. All you were doing was being nice, and I was rude to you because of it. And I’m so sorry.” Cas exhaled shakily as he finished, his hands twisted so tightly the knuckles had turned white.

Dean’s eyes remained downcast. He bit his lip, his hands still on the counter. “So, you were confused? And that’s why you were a dick to me? That’s a really lame excuse.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got. And it’s the truth.”

“I don’t see what’s so confusing.”

“Maybe the fact that you’re a guy, a guy I don’t know, and you were flirting with me? And that I liked it?” his voice hissed like steam coming out of a kettle. “My family hates gay people, Dean. Or bi people, whatever. They’re the super-religious, close-minded, Westboro people that you only hear about in the news. How well do you think it would go over if I told them, ‘Hey, there’s this guy I met at Starbucks, and he has beautiful green eyes and is saving up for a cool car and spells my name right and listens to me and puts alcohol in his coffee which is actually really hot albeit illegal, none of his clothes fit him properly, they’re either too tight or too baggy so you can always see more skin than you should, he steals my glasses and I _really_ like it’? You think that they would be all right with that?”

Dean was staring at him, his lips parted, his eyebrows raised. He glanced back at his brother, who kept glancing back at them, the line of impatient businessmen growing ever longer. Cas heard Dean walk away, but didn’t see him. His eyes were fixed on the floor, his vision ringed with the familiar blur of embarrassed tears. He tried to focus on his breathing, in, out, in, out, but he was breathing too fast for it to do any good.

Dean was back.

“Come on,” he said, walking around the counter. “Sammy can handle it by himself for a few minutes.”

He walked out of the back door. Cas had never gone through here. There was no reason to, he always parked in the front parking lot, and there was nothing out back but more parking and a few scrubby trees.

Dean sat down on the back step, and motioned for Cas to join him. Cas sat down, hugging his knees to his chest. The too-long sleeves of his sweater had fallen over his hands, and he pushed them back up to his wrists before putting his head down on his knees.

“Look, I’m sorry about this. I promise, I didn’t know about your family,” Dean said, kicking at a pebble, which careened off the toe of his boot and into a tree trunk. “I didn’t cause any shit, did I?”

“No. They don’t even know about you. Not even Anna does. I didn’t really know if there was anything to tell.”

“Anna’s the one who drinks the black coffee, right? The girl in there with the red hair?”

Cas nodded.

“Damn, that is impressive. I could never stand anything that bitter myself.”

“You must not have very many bitter family members, then.” Cas replied.

Dean threw back his head and laughed, nudging Cas with his shoulder. “Are you crazy? I don’t even know any of my family apart from Sammy, but I bet most of them would be the worst! Can you even imagine?”

Cas chuckled. His nose was growing slightly cold from the stiff breeze outside. He buried it into his sweater, his glasses getting jostled. Dean reached over and straightened them. “You know what I like?” he said, “your hipster glasses. And your hair. And your eyes. You’re the classic blue-eyed virgin.”

Cas slapped Dean’s hand away, looking at him in bewilderment. “Well, maybe your problem is that you’re the archetypal green-eyed slut!” he replied, laughing.

“Yea, I guess that is my problem,” Dean said, chuckling. “The slut always goes for the virgin in the end. That’s how it works in movies.”

Cas’s smile dimmed, and he felt the lines left on his cheeks like wrinkles. “This isn’t a movie, though.”

“Damn right it’s not! If it was, it would have to end with some great big kiss scene while the autumn leaves swirled dramatically at our feet and Enya or whatever was playing in the background.”

“Somehow, I don’t see that happening,” Cas replied. He glanced down at the pavement, grey and black against the skittering orange leaves, like something out of a Halloween card. Like all the trees were sending its leaves down to dance.

“So,” Cas said, tearing his eyes from the concrete and back to Dean, “What wa-”

But Dean’s mouth was on his before Cas could say another word, and his ears were wringing like a chorus of violins was playing in his head, and a fog swirled in his brain. How had ne never noticed that Dean smelled so much of coffee? Coffee beans and steamed milk and warmth, all except for his mouth, which covered Cas’s tongue in fuzzy sweetness. An overpowering taste of rum, from all the Irish coffee. Maybe that’s what was making Cas feel so sleepy. Was it possible to get drunk off kissing? That must be the reason he felt like he was floating away from earth, tethered only by Dean’s lips and his hand on Cas’s…elbow? Shoulder? He couldn’t even tell, his whole body felt ethereal and blurry, parts blending into one another, Dean’s single touch reaching every pore of his skin until it sang with it.

When Dean’s lips parted from his, it felt like the temperature had plummeted. Cas suppressed a shiver as he stared into those green eyes, alive and fiery, like waltzing will o’ the wisps. He could vaguely feel his lips parted, his eyes lidded, his lashes fluttering, like some sort of goddamn fairy tale princess.

“There. I didn’t even hear any Enya,” Dean said, leaning back against the step. Cas remained where he was, leaning forward slightly, like a tree bent by the wind. _I did_ , he thought. _Harps and violins and I’m pretty sure there was whale song._

Before he had a chance to voice his thoughts, the door flew open. Dean reeled off the steps and smacked onto the pavement, while Sam laughed from the other side of the door.

“Oh no, pwetty Dean! Did I bweak your face?” he gasped mockingly.

“Yes, you fucking did!” Dean shouted, holding his hand over his right eye. “Goddamnit, Sammy! What the hell?”

“Dude, if you don’t come back in there’s going to be a riot, and no one’s going to show up in the White House, and the world as we know it will cease to exist because these government execs or whatever never got their coffee.”

“All right, all right, I’m going,” Dean said, clambering to his feet and following Sam. Cas opened his mouth to say he should be going, and that Anna had probably left him already, when Dean reached down and took his hand, yanking him off the step.

“Come on, it’s freezing out here,” he said, dragging him back into the coffee shop. The warm air fell over them like wool, and Cas let out a grateful shiver. The place was full to bursting with men in suits, but there wasn’t a single strand of red hair to be seen. Anna had left him after all.

Oh well. He would have been late to school anyway. Cas settled into a stool in front of the counter, and watched lazily as Dean started making coffee.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Dean said, snapping his fingers in Cas’s direction. “I still need to make you something. On the house, something beside plain black coffee. What’ll it be?”

“Uh…” Cas said, startled. “God, I don’t know. Um…”

“Green tea latte, no special flavouring, got it,” Dean interrupted, reaching over and pumping syrup into a cup.

“Okay,” Cas said quietly, putting his chin back on his folded arms. “Thanks.”

***

“What are you doing?”

Dean reached over and grabbed Cas’s hand, pulling it across the table toward him.

“You gave me a list, and now I’ll give you one,” was his reply. Cas looked at him in confusion.

“First,” Dean said, pulling a Sharpie from his pocket and putting a dot on the back of Cas’s right hand. “Your hands. They’re awesome. Especially this one, since this is the one you write with. Next,” he put a dot on the very tip of Cas’s nose. “Your nose. It’s like, if a bunny became human, it would have that nose exactly. And when you’re cold, it turns red. And these,” two dots, each right on the corner of Cas’s eyes. “Those eyes, dude. They can’t be real. I’ve been staring at them for weeks and I still think they’re fake. Your mouth, that awesome Cupid’s bow thing you’ve got going on, this sweater-”

“Don’t get Sharpie on it, it’ll never wash out!”

“-This one freckle on your shoulder that somehow you can always see, the way your forehead crinkles up with something’s pissed you off, your hair…all of your hair, actually, it’s all equally perfect.”

“Great. Now I have a Sharpie line all the way across my hairline. Thanks.”

“The sentiment is there, though.”

“Yea, it is.”

“Besides,” Dean capped the Sharpie. “Now whenever people see you, they’ll know not to touch you, as you have now been marked with Starbucks Sharpie. You are officially mine now, I’ve laid claim.”

“I…what?”

“Sorry, I’m trying to delay the inevitable,” Dean said, glancing down warily at the tiny cup sitting before him.

“It was your idea,” Cas shrugged.

“I’m starting to doubt the idea of a straight espresso shot being considered a ‘good’ idea,” Dean replied. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, before picking up the cup and downing the espresso like a shot. He remained still for a moment, his brows furrowed as though deep in thought, before he brought a hand to his mouth. Cas laughed as Dean ran over and leaned over the sink, gagging. “Fucking hell!” he shouted. “Damn, oh God, that’s the worst thing I’ve ever tasted. Oh, shit, it’s like drinking bile!”

Cas laughed so hard he nearly fell out of the chair.

“It isn’t funny,” Dean said, throwing a dish towel at his head.

“Yes, it is!” Cas replied, catching the dish towel. “At least now you know you can handle putting bitter things in your mouth. Not such a light weight after all, huh?”

“Well, I can think of _one_ bitter thing I might be putting in my mouth soon,” Dean replied, walking back over to the table. Cas stared up at him as the laughter died slightly on his lips, his cheeks colouring. “I was thinking of an antacid,” Dean said, reaching over and throwing the towel over Cas’s head like a birdcage, “But hey, wherever your mind takes you is cool.”

“Dean!” Sam called from the other end of the store. “Can you give me a ride after we close today? And can you please stop openly flirting while I’m the only one here? I feel like I’m on _Queer Eye for the Straight Guy._ ”

“Sure, and no.”

“Can I drive?”

“That’s adorable, Sammy.”

“Wait,” Cas said, “Drive? Weren’t you saving up for a car?”

“Uh,” Dean said, pulling a set of keys from his pocket. “Bitch, I believe the term is bought.”

“That’s great! Is it the model that you wanted?”

“Sure is! Genuine ’67, complete with cassette deck.”

“Great, more chances for me to listen to 80’s trash songs,” Sam muttered.

“Watch your mouth, or you’re walking home.”

Cas laughed. “So, does this mean I can steal a ride from you too? My car sort of died on me.”

Dean waved his hand. “Any time. Only, I don’t think I’ll be offering a ride to your redhead friend. She doesn’t seem like much of a charmer.”

“She’s fine once you get to know her,” Cas replied.

Dean waved his hand. “Whatever you say. But I promise I won’t make you walk. Unless you criticize my taste in music.” Cas grinned. “See!” Dean said, sitting up and pointing at Cas’s face. “That’s another one! That smile, damn, that smile could light up the earth. Where the hell’s my Sharpie?”

The coffee machine grumbled contentedly in the corner, like an old cat on the windowsill. Sam was swearing quietly as he bent over, sweeping beneath some chairs. The sunset glittered against the windows and reflected off the metal with a dull pink gleam. The whole place smelled of crushed coffee beans, whipped cream, tea, hot milk. Like Dean. Like Dean, but with less rum, less sweetness, less light. Nothing could compete with that light, bright as the sun.

“I think,” Cas said, glancing out the window, muttering softly, “I think I can afford to be late to class tomorrow.”


End file.
